The Ritual
by tempest-races
Summary: When you find true love, it's impossible to let it go.


AN: This is my entry into a writing contest on another site. It is also only the second time I've ever written in the first person. I'd really like some comments on how this is, and what if anything you all would like me to improve on. This is the first draft, I had to get it out. Hope you all enjoy. Warning you all right now this piece should make you want to cry if I did my job right. Sorry for that, but I hope you enjoy it anyway. This piece is not related to any of my other works, it is stand alone. I just borrowed some of my own characters so I didn't need to invent a new one. Enjoy.  
  
TITLE: The Ritual AUTHOR: TempestRaces RATING: Strong R, Very strong. Don't read it if this offends you, you've been warned. PAIRING: I'm not sure, ;) read it and find out. DISCLAIMER: All characters you know are the property of Universal Studios. All characters you don't are mine. "I will.But" is the property of Shedaisy. No gains, financial or otherwise will be realized from this story. It was written for my own enjoyment and for the enjoyment of my friends. ARCHIVE: Sure, but I'd like to know where. FEEDBACK: I live for it. Please be as thorough and honest as you want to be.  
  
The Ritual  
  
We were driving. It didn't much matter where. We were always driving. I loved to watch her drive. She was so passionate about every single movement she made with the car. Every time she walked by it to get into the racing bucket seats she'd caress the fender. She'd make a little caress with her thumb on the door handle. She'd flick the key with a practiced, gentle yet firm motion to spark the powerful engine over into its growly life. Every shift was done with a loving caress of the shifter. She'd roll the windows down and let the wind rush in and even the motion of moving the window down was passionate. She'd talk over the rushing wind and the million decibel sound of her music. She loved that car. She loved me. Her movements with me were equally passionate, and very similar.  
  
She'd sing along to the music, any music. She was so passionate about music too. I loved the way she'd sing. She couldn't sing. The thoughts of the sound of her singing still make me laugh. She didn't care that she couldn't sing. She'd still just sing with her whole heart to every song. Every song she ever played had some meaning to her. All she cared about what the fact that she was going far too fast, with the music far too loud, pushing the car far too hard. She liked to push me far too hard too. But I loved every second of it.  
  
I still remember this one time; she was driving down the freeway with me beside her, her just singing her little heart out. She was playing some country song. My girl liked rap and hip hop. But like I said every song she ever played had some meaning to her, to us. And she'd play anything she liked if it spoke to her in some way. This song was by some chick band. She'd kill me if she heard me say that but they were. Shedaisy or some silly name like that. And I remember her glancing at me in her peripheral vision as she sang along.  
  
I won't be your lifetime girlfriend I won't be just one of the guys I won't be your mama's favorite I refuse to be the last in line  
  
She was singing for all she was worth and I was trying not to laugh at the atrocious sound of it. But I loved her and her singing wasn't that bad, to me. Because it was such an integral part of who she was. But she was right; she wouldn't be my lifetime girlfriend. The diamond ring that would make her my wife, if she was willing, was in my pocket. She wasn't one of the guys, she'd showed me time and time again she was better then the guys. She had a woman's soft touch and a woman's need to care for me. She was all the woman I'd ever need. She was wrong about the next line; she would've been my mama's favorite, if my mama had still been around to know her. She was always at the first of the line with me. I couldn't tell when my loyalties had subtly shifted but they had. She was at the head of the line for my time, my loyalty, love, and my heart.  
  
So there we were, driving, and every once in awhile she'd look over at me, sitting there in the passenger seat trying hard not to look nervous, trying hard to be cool and collected. Her driving made me nervous, but I couldn't let on. She was just a little girl. I couldn't let on her doing something as simple as driving too fast scared me. Driving too fast was what we did, after all. But it did scare me. And as hard as I tried not to let on, she knew. She knew every time. She always knew. How well she knew me scared the holy hell out of me more then her driving did. She saw past the tough guy act right inside to the little boy who was hiding behind it. And rather then that making her disrespect me for my weakness she reveled in the fact that I was as human as anyone, but that I only let down the defenses with her. She knew so many other things about me too. She knew I trusted her with my life. I thought she had that much trust in me too, in fact I know she did.  
  
She knew that the way she held the gearshift of the car turned me on. The way she'd caress it and move it from first to second. The way she licked her lips when she shifted and glanced at me out of the corner of her eye, gauging how turned on I was and how nervous I was all at the same time. Knowing how explosive the lust and fear were when she mixed them just right. And she knew how to mix them in the perfect balance that drove me crazy for her.  
  
She drove her car like a maestro and she played me like one too. And I loved every moment of sitting in her orchestra. We got to our destination and with one flick of her delicate wrist she cut the powerful motor and we were just sitting in the dark with the windows down and the cool night time salt air billowing into the car around us. She stood up gracefully from her seat and turned to me.  
  
"Let's go for a walk." She said, and I could tell from the devilish glint in her eyes a walk wasn't all she had in mind. I watched her hike up her skirt to start to undo her sandals. She had these sandals that did up in criss crossing straps all the way up to her knees and I think she only wore them because she knew it drove me crazy to either have to figure out how to remove them off her legs or to watch her do it. Either way it was a sexier act then almost anything she's ever done. Sometimes when she took them off herself she'd caress her own leg as if to rub the faint lines from the straps off her flesh. But she did it with another mischievous look my way and I always knew what she was doing.  
  
I watched her finish her other shoe then watched as she set them both onto the floor of the car. "Alright." I rasped out and stood up out of her low slung Japanese chariot. I also removed my boots and set them in the car. With the full moon and sky full of stars it was a perfect night for a walk and a perfect night for a proposal. I was nervous. I hoped she'd say yes but then again she was so young. Only 19 to my 24. I didn't know if she was ready for the kind of commitment that marriage was. Hell, I wasn't sure if I was either. But I was going to ask her and hope for the best.  
  
I went to take her hand to walk with her down the beach toward the hard packed sand at the waters edge but she giggled at me and took off. I knew the game well. I had to catch her. And boy could she run. She always made me work to catch up to her. Some times I wondered if she was letting me catch her, sometimes I had a feeling that I couldn't catch her on my own if we ran all night. But I always got her after a few minutes. She kept me running long enough for me to be out of breath. She never was. I don't know what she did to stay in shape but I do know she disappeared 'to the gym' for a few hours a week. But she ran like Hermes and I guess I knew she was letting me catch her. But my pride made me pretend I was catching her on my own. She knew that too. That's why she'd laugh at me.  
  
When I caught her I'd always do it the same way. I'd get as close to her as I could then dive at her. I'd take her down in such a way that I was on my back in the sand with her on top of me. I took the brunt of the fall that way and I was strong enough to take her weight easily. She'd lay on me, chest to chest, her legs in the sand between mine and giggled down at me.  
  
"I guess you caught me again." She'd laugh. Always the same line. It was part of our ritual.  
  
"Of course girl. You can't outrun me. I'm never letting you go." I'd gasp because she already had me so out of breath and I knew it was only going to get worse before we got back to the fort. And that was about the time every time we did this that she'd lean in and kiss me. The first kiss was always soft, innocent. She almost convinced me every time that it was our first time all over again. Nothing ever felt old with her. Every time was just like the first time. As she gave me that first sweet kiss I'd let her think she was running the show for all of about 10 seconds before I'd run my hands up her back and into her hair to slant her head more and bring our lips together tighter. I'd take the kiss beyond sweet and innocent into adult and passionate and she'd keep up with the step up in pace each and every time. That was the next step in the ritual and she didn't let me down by forgetting it that night. She didn't know, of course, that that night was any different then the many other nights we'd done the same thing. That is the point of a ritual after all, something done repeatedly because it has a meaning in the way it is done.  
  
She has this fabulous hair. It's long, incredibly so. If she had her way it would be a lot less long but I put my foot down. I don't kid myself. If she really wanted to cut it off she would. But on that womanly level she has that makes her want to care for me, she wants to please me too. So she lets it grow. It's dark red. More like black but with a red cast to it. It's curly. So curly. It has a life of it's own around her head. It's as vibrant and alive as her. It hangs to her waist in it's riotous curls. When she washes it, it's past her butt. I know it's a pain for her but the fact that she puts up with it despite all the extra work mostly for me makes her even more precious to me and her hair even more beautiful.  
  
And when I'd take our kiss deeper, she'd respond with a moan, every time. She loved every thing I ever did to her. But it was the same for me. I knew I was only the second man she'd ever had, and the first one had been a, as she puts it, girlhood mistake, and I couldn't really count the number of girls that I'd had before her, but it didn't matter. All those other girls were my mistakes. I was made to love this woman, and to make love to this woman. No other woman had ever looked good after she'd come into my life.  
  
As we kissed she'd run her hands into my hair. We had this agreement. I had to keep my hair shaggy for her if she had to keep her hair long for me. I didn't mind. I loved the way she played with my hair. She grabbed it while she kissed me of course but she'd play with it at other times too. She'd just sit in my lap and play with the hair at the back of my neck while we watched movies. She never sat in her own chair if she could help it. She always curled up in my lap. It was where she belonged. We were never apart if we could help it.  
  
I'd kiss her while I rubbed her back for what felt like hours but was likely only minutes. I always started to rub her shirt up her back in preparation for taking it away from her. I don't know why I acted like I had to do this sneakily. She didn't care. She'd always relinquish her shirt with a giggle. After I had her shirt off her I'd flip her over so she was under me, most of my weight on my elbows. It was at this point every time that I'd just take a second and look down at her, brush the hair off her face and behind her ear. To marvel that this girl wanted me. She could have any guy, she could do anything, but she wanted me and she only wanted to be with me. She didn't want anything else. I hoped that she wanted me forever, just like I wanted her.  
  
So many girls would have been upset that they had sand in their hair, but not my girl. I always knew I was all that was on her mind by this point. And I knew that at this point she wanted to take my tank tops from me. That thought was always confirmed as I felt the contact of her small hands on the small of my back under my tops. She'd slowly start to rub my back higher and higher, moving my shirts up as she went with that same devilish glint in her eye. How she kept her hands so soft and worked beside me every day I don't know. I think she did it for me. Have I said that I love her yet? I do.  
  
Once I'd helped her divest me of my shirt I'd kiss her again. I couldn't help it. She was everything that was woman, lying under me, under the stars. I thought of the ring in my pocket. I make a snap decision there'd be time for it after, while I held her in my arms in the moonlight. And did she ever look good in the moonlight. Her caramel skin glistening with the sweat that I was bringing out on it in little glittering beads across her skin. How proud I was of very one of those glistening drops. They were proof I wasn't crazy. They were proof she wanted me. But they reminded me of the diamond in my pocket; they were like little diamonds on her skin. Surely an omen she was going to say yes.  
  
After I'd looked my fill and kissed her again I'd kiss her eyelids closed to shield me from her all knowing violet eyes. I'm the only guy I know who has a girl with violet eyes. When she's happy they're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. So sparkling and alive. When she's sad they're the worst thing because they're the colour of bruised pansies or just bruises on the skin. So I do all I can to make sure she's never sad. I think I do a pretty good job. I know she's just going to open them again to watch me do what I'm about to do but I still go through this part of our ritual every time. Once her eyes are closed I kiss her slowly down her throat and then down between her breasts and down her belly.  
  
I love her belly. She's so soft there. She's soft everywhere I'm hard and that appeals to me. No matter what anyone says I'm not soft under the tough exterior. The tough guy is who I am. Maybe now more so then ever because I have to take care of her. I need to protect her from every hurt, from every disappointment. Well, I try. I don't always succeed, but I sure do try. And she's the exception to my toughness. I'm soft for her. I don't know how she did it but she got through, she got past all the defenses and she's in. But I love the fact that she's the perfect contrast to me.  
  
Once I kiss her hip bones, I make my way back up toward her breasts. She's always on her elbows watching me worship her body by this time. One of the reasons why I know it's different with this woman, different then all the ones that came before her is I care that she enjoys this. Her pleasure is more important to me then my own. That was never the case before. I mean, it wasn't that I didn't care to be good with the women that came before her but I didn't put them ahead of myself like I do with my woman.  
  
The next step to our ritual is for me to rub my beard over her flesh, and give her what she calls beard burn. Thinking of this makes me laugh too. The first time we made love when I woke up I looked down at her sleeping beside me in my bed and I noticed little red dots all over her skin. On her breasts, her tummy, the crook of her elbow and neck, and, well, other places too. I was so ashamed of myself for marking my love that way. Then she woke up and caught me staring.  
  
"Whatchya lookin at baby?" She asked me sleepily.  
  
"I hurt you." I'd answered, still ashamed.  
  
"How?" She looked confused. I touched one of the patches of red on her chest.  
  
"I marked you. I'm sorry. I'll have to remember to shave for you next time." I was so upset she was going to go around with my rash on her skin.  
  
"If you touch one hair on that head or face it's your ass." She told me in her mock firm voice. "I love every one of these little red dots. They're telling the world you just made me your woman. Everyone knows what we were doing when I got these and I'm happy they do." She looked so proud of herself, so proud of her womanhood in that moment that my marking her with my beard is a permanent part of our ritual now. She's always got little red dots on her somewhere. It's different every time we do this. We joke about them together. It's a private joke for us to share.  
  
Once I've teased her enough that she's panting and wanting I put the torture to rest and take one of her by this time pebbled nipples into my mouth. She always cries out my name at that point. Have I said how much I love the sound of my name from her lips? I do.  
  
She'll only take so much before it's her turn. She couldn't move me anywhere I didn't want to go on her own but she flips me onto my back into the sand and I allow it. For the first few moments after she flips me this way she just kisses me and I'm happy to let her. I know I need to save my strength for what's coming, for what she has planned. It's the same every time of course. It's a ritual.  
  
She'll kiss me while she toys with my hair and then she'll kiss my eyes closed. She knows I'll just open them again but she does it anyway. She knows how much I love it when she nibbles on my neck, so she does. While she does that her little hands are ranging all over my chest. She'll kiss me down the center of my chest and then she licks the lines on my skin between my ab muscles because she knows it drives me crazy. Then she kisses the scar that mars my ribs on my left side. Every time she kisses the scar, it's part of the ritual.  
  
While she's doing that she's undoing the button and zipper of my jeans too. She never pulls them down, just undoes them, all the while kissing my stomach and sometimes swirling her tongue around my belly button. When that's done and I'm already half out of my mind with needing her she takes one of my nipples in her mouth. At that point every time I can't take any more and I flip her back under me.  
  
She always wears these skirts that tie, I think she does it just to make my life harder. I have to unwrap her every time. She gets dressed special when she knows we're going to do this, come here to her beach and do our ritual.  
  
While I kiss her I try to figure out how to take her skirt off with one hand and not stop kissing her. I've never figured it out yet but I try every time. Every time I have to stop and look at what I'm doing and use both my hands. And every time she laughs at me for it. And I love the sound of her laugh. Have I said I love her yet? I think I have, but I can't say it enough. I do.  
  
And every time I get her skirt open and find out she's not wearing any panties at all, not even the little ones that aren't more then a few strings and a scrap anyway I'm shocked. This woman is the epitome of grace in her everyday life but when it comes to her and I and this ritual we have she's a wonton. She can't help herself. But neither can I. I spread her skirt out beneath her and caress her hips. She's so beautiful in the moonlight naked that I always have to take another minute to just look at her. That is the moment she uses to let me know that she has reached the end of her patience for what comes before and she starts to work my pants down over my hips.  
  
"Help me out here baby." She always half laughs, half pants out at this point. So I finish the job and then we're both naked in the sand. Ever make love to your girl in the sand? I both don't recommend it and can't get enough of it. Sand gets everywhere. But showering together to remove it is the last part of the ritual, when we get home. Once my pants join our other cloths in the pile in the sand she grabs me by my hair and pulls my lips to hers. After she kisses me she gasps out. "Now baby." And as always I obey her every command and join us.  
  
It is at this point that the ritual varies. Depending on what we're both in the mood for this part can be a frantic coupling or a slow loving. With the knowledge of what I'm going to when this is all over, while we hold each other in reflection of this act, this is slow. I can't rush this. It's like I'm proposing to her now and the words that come after will be just a hollow shell of what I really feel for her. This act is my real feelings. I'm not great with words and when I ask her I'll likely fuck it up. But I can't fuck this up. We do this so well. We were made for each other. I know it and she knows it.  
  
As I move within her slowly, making her gasp out my name, she writhes beneath me, making me gasp out her name too. I know she's getting close to plunging over the edge into her climax but no matter how much she whimpers and begs I refuse to go faster. I want to draw this out. I know the longer I do the higher she'll go and the farther she'll fall. I want to watch her face as she falls over the edge. Scary as it is, I don't care about my own pleasure right now, its all about her. I hope she knows that, can feel it, because I can't tell her. It's hard enough to tell her I love her. But I do tell her that. Every day. But it's an effort each time.  
  
She screams my name as she reaches climax and the fluttering of her inner muscles around me throw me into my own and I call her name out in a voice that sounds hoarse even to my own ears. I hope I made this time, this enacting of our ritual, extra special. I hope she noticed.  
  
I fall onto her, spent. But I remember to keep most of my weight on my elbows. She says she can take the whole thing, but I don't want her to. I weigh so much more then her I'm scared that I'll crush her. She says my weight is comfortable and comforting. She enjoys this quiet time after we've made love. She kisses my shoulder and plays with my hair while I try to catch my breath against the side of her neck.  
  
When I had my breathing more under control I rolled off of her and pulled her against my side. I wasn't ready to lose the contact with her but I couldn't reach my pants from where we were.  
  
"Whatchya doin' baby?" She asks me that exact question so much. I love it.  
  
"Nothin." I answered her as I grabbed my jeans and fished in my pocket, my hand closing over my goal. I kissed her again. "I love you." It was an effort but I told her. She smiled like I'd just handed her the moon and stars.  
  
"I love you too." It wasn't hard for her. The words came to her so easily. I love her. I've said that already but I can't say it too many times.  
  
"Baby?" I started. My palms were sweaty and it had nothing to do with my previous activity. I was scared. I was scared she'd say no. That I was just someone she was marking time with while she waited for her real life to begin. She was only 19. What would she want with me for the rest of her young life?  
  
"Um?" She was so relaxed after our loving that she didn't even attempt a full sentence.  
  
"I need to ask you something." I was so nervous.  
  
"Ok baby. What is it?" She was slightly more conscious now that she heard the nervous tone in my voice. I think she was scared I was going to tell her I didn't want to be with her anymore. She started to trace the scar on my arm. She did that whenever she was nervous and I was near by. She saved my ass that day. She was hurt really bad herself that day but she put me ahead of herself. She got the whole team out of all the shit that we'd brought down on our own heads.  
  
"I was wondering, well, I really want you to... I can't imagine my life without you in it." I knew it was a lame start but hey, I'd never proposed before and I hoped I never would again. I wasn't the rehearsing type. I guess I could have made an exception and rehearsed this but as I said, I hoped the love we shared before would speak louder and clearer then my words.  
  
"Me neither baby. Me neither." She smiled against my chest and sighed a happy sigh.  
  
"Then I hope you'll do me the honor of marring me. I promise I'll make you happy and take care of you for the rest of our lives. Will you marry me?" I waited, holding my breath for her to say no. What would she want with a scarred, stupid mechanic who's only future was in illegal racing? I can be sort of hard on myself at times. She sat up and looked at me.  
  
"Yes Vincent," I hate my full name, except when she says it. "I will." She gave me the most beautiful smile I'd ever seen, full of her love for me. We lay together in the sand under the stars for the longest time, just enjoying each other's company. I'd slid the ring on her finger right after I asked her and I kept holding her hand up to the moonlight to admire the way my ring looked on her finger. A princess cut diamond for my princess.  
  
"Let's go tell the team. You know Letty and Mia are going to flip. You're the first one to get a ring out of one of the wild Toretto guys." I said with a smile. It was true, but it might be the catalyst would make Dom ask Letty, I figured. I stood up and pulled on my jeans. I tucked my shirts in the back pocket. I never bothered to put them back on. I'd been self conscious about the scars at first, on my arm and side. But she'd kissed them and told me in her laughing tone that chicks loved scars and bad boys. That was how her kissing my scar became part of the ritual. And now I'm not too self conscious to go without my shirts again. I love her. I watched her wrap her skirt back around herself and pull her shirt back on over her head, hiding the marks I'd left her with. We'd find them and laugh about them in the shower after we underwent the Spanish inquisition from the team.  
  
We walked back to her car and climbed in, neither of us bothering with our shoes. She started the car with a flick of her wrist, like she always did and we headed home. We were so happy. Just the two of us.  
  
What happened next is still a blur to me. They told me after that a drunk driver crossed the center line and hit us head on. She was driving too fast, she had the music up too loud, she was pushing the car far too hard. I loved her for it. It was her, that's how she was. But she couldn't stop and couldn't swerve so we collided. I called out to her. I never stopped.  
  
You know how Dominic says that he could hear his dad screaming but they told him that it wasn't his dad it was Dom himself? I know it was Dom. I never stopped shouting her name. She never answered back. I must have passed out then because when I next woke I was in a hospital bed and a nurse was again checking all the shit hooked up to me while she looked at a clip board.  
  
"I see you're finally going to rejoin us again Mr. Caseletto." She says to me. I start to panic. I knew I was. I couldn't see my angel anywhere.  
  
"Where's my girl. Where's Nyssa?" I asked. I had myself convinced that she was just in another room, she was ok, she had to be ok. She was so young and she'd just pledged the rest of her life to me, and I had done the same for her. I mean, me, Vincent Joseph Caseletto had just asked a girl to marry me and the girl wasn't Mia. Fate wouldn't take her away from me right after she'd given me her life, her heart. Would it?  
  
"Maybe I should get your family." The nurse said nervously as she hung the clip board on the end of my bed and left the room. The team filed in and I knew from the look on their faces that my baby girl was dead. That was why she'd never answered me back. Dom could never hide news like this from me.  
  
"NO, she's not dead. I won't have it." I screamed at them.  
  
"Oh Vince. She died instantly. She didn't suffer." Mia tried to make it better. Nothing could make this better. Nyssa was dead. I had no reason to live. "You need to calm down. We can all get through this."  
  
"You don't understand. Death can't have her. She gave me her life. We were going to get married. She gave her life to me." Mia and Letty started to cry. Letty never cried. I mean, Mia cried at the drop of a hat but Letty never did. Not ever. Not when she caught Dom fucking around on her, not when she lost races, not ever. But she was crying now. And I started to sob. If Letty was crying then she was really gone. My girl was really dead. I broke down and they gave me some drug that knocked me back out. I was glad as the oblivion sucked me down. I didn't want to be conscious without her.  
  
I got out of the hospital after a few weeks of care. I didn't much care if I ever got out. I still don't care about anything. My life is useless without her. The team tries to cheer me up and they try to make it better but there's no making this better. I hope she's in heaven waiting for me because without her their never gonna let me in. When I was able to drive again I told the team I was going for a drive, climbed into my maxima and drove to where they buried her. She was in the same cemetery as Dom's dad. Her graveside was devoid of any other mourners and I was glad. I had to do this alone.  
  
"Hey baby. I can't believe they took you from me. I miss you so much." It was at that point that I broke down into great racking sobs. Me, Vince, the tough guy. I never cry. I don't think I cried when my mom died. I might have. I didn't cry when my arm and side hurt so much I didn't know how I was going to get through it. But I had her then. And now I'm all alone. "But I'm comin sugar. Wait by the gate for me baby or they're not gonna take me in." I hope she's not mad at me for what I'm about to do but I can't go on without her.  
  
I walked up to my car and put small slits in the brake lines of both front wheels and climbed into my other baby and fired her up. This car was the love of my life till she came into it. Then she eclipsed it all. I'm so sorry guys but I can't live without her. That's why I wrote this all down. I've planned this out. I had to. I had to tell you all what happened so you'd know. I want you to understand what I did and why so you don't have to hurt like I did while I was with you without her.  
  
I drove out to the express way and started to drive too fast, with the music too loud, pushing my car too hard. I knew that I was only going to be able to brake a few times before the fluid would all have leaked out and I wouldn't have any brakes any more. I was picking up speed at a swift rate. But the mad scientist had built this car for that exact purpose for me. I came to a curve in the road and instinctively tried to slow down so I wouldn't go flying into the median. But I had no brakes. I hit the wall and I was conscious for about one minute before the black took over. And then the white light came. I mean it, there really is a white light.  
  
So I followed it and at the end of the light tunnel was my girl. Looking so beautiful, with my ring on her finger. "You gave me your life girl."  
  
"And now you have it for eternity my love." And she pulled me into her arms. We'll be together forever now. As it should be. Have I said I love her? I know I have, but I do. And I can't say it enough.  
  
~Fin~  
  
Updated to say that I guess to some people it's not clear this is Vince and Nyssa from my other story. The man is Vince, the woman is Nyssa. It's not a part of she's bonnie, just something else I wrote for a contest involving Matt charries on another site. It's meant to be sad.Anyway I guess the couple involved wasn't as clear as I thought so I thought I'd clarify. Peace, Tempest. 


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